Halloween Ghost Story Contest -- 2005
High School Winners

First Place

---

Our first place High School winner is CJ Bishop, a student attending A.P. Schalick High School in Pittsgrove, NJ.

---

Late Night Detective

by
CJ Bishop

My job wasn’t the easiest. The late nights, the crooked people, and the strange happenings that seemed to plague our lives; as a detective, this was my bread and butter. But some days I just get some calls that send chills down my spine.

It was ten o’clock on a Monday night, my peak hour for work. I paced around my room with my eyes resting on every tiny detail. They lingered on the report on Doctor Caper that I still needed to investigate, reminding me of the more mundane assignments ahead of me. The phone on my desk rang sharply to break my thoughts.

“Detective Parke,” I answered the phone.

“We’ve got one for you, James,” came the voice of the police dispatcher. I never quite learned his name, in spite of all the times we spoke. “I’m sending you the location as we speak.” With that, the phone went dead. I hung up, threw my trenchcoat over my thin frame and walked out the monogrammed door. In the folds of my coat came the buzzing of my PDA with the directions to the scene.

I pulled out the handheld object, which glowed brightly in my grasp. I scanned it hurriedly, and shoved it back into my pocket. It seems there was another murder in the Nest, a haven for crime and the unusual. I sneezed as I walked up to my car. Curse these allergies. The roads were fairly empty, but I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It looked like I was going to make great time.

I pulled up to the Nest, taking it all in. A red sports car was thrown against the side of an apartment. Skid marks behind it showed that the driver had tried to throw on the brakes and swerved at the last minute. Two large dents were crushed in on the car’s driver side, with a crimson trail leading from the scene of the accident into a nearby alley. Didn’t it figure? Almost every bad night started with a dark alley. I cautiously drew the handgun from it’s holster and edged toward the opening of the alley.

“Hello?” I asked the darkness, still keeping my gun ready.

“You!” someone shouted from within. “Y-you stay away from me!” I fell to the ground as a bolt of pain raced through my side. It was like something was gnawing at my skin. A few moments later, I actually heard the gunshot. Everything seemed so slow as I fell to the ground, blood pooling around my wound. It wasn’t bad, as far I could tell, but it wasn’t painless. I screamed, I guess; I couldn’t really remember. I did remember an icy hand grasping at my body, while another probed my wound.

From there, I don’t know what happened. I woke up on a bed in a dimly lit room that was decorated with pictures of local cops I knew. My wound had been tended to and was covered with a thin strip of gauze. A bowl of cold soup sat, untouched, on an endtable beside my head. Within the fuzzy thoughts in my head, I recalled that I was in Sergeant Timber’s room. Even his strong scent lingered in the area. With nothing else to do, I let sleep pull me down again.

I was awoken by the sound of the door slamming across the room. Instinctively I reached for my sidearm at my waist, but remembered that I’d left it back in the Nest. The door swung open, with Sergeant Timber stepping in to greet me. He was a proud man with thick arms and a large black mustache. He wore a blue button up coat that reached down to his knees, but was wet and dripping.

“James!” he cried in joy. “Glad to see you’re awake good-fellow!” He smiled as he removed his coat to sit down beside me.

I smiled weakly, “Glad to see you too, buddy. If I may ask, what happened?”

Timber’s cheery face turned quickly to a grave grimace, “You hadn’t reported back from the Nest, so we at the station were worried. You took a shot to your side, but the bullet only grazed you. We should all be so lucky.”

There was something that the Sergeant wasn’t telling me. “Anything else?” I probed, hoping for him to speak.

Timber just patted me on the leg and lay my gun on the endtable, next to the soup. “We found it near you when we arrived.” With that, he left the room again.

I don’t know how long it took for me to fall asleep, but I was soon haunted by dreams of icy, chilling hands. They reached out to clutch at my throat, at my face, at my heart.

I sat up faster this time when the door opened. “Parke,” came Timber’s voice from beyond the doorway, but it sounded hollow and distant. I reached toward the endtable, my hand inching along it’s surface.

“Parke,” he said from the shadows again. Sergeant Timber then stepped into the room.

His face was a mess. Claw marks ringed his head and his left eye was swollen shut or altogether missing. Blood clung to every fiber of his clothing, which was torn and tattered beyond repair. A small bulge lay hidden under the man’s pant leg, which indicated a broken bone. He stepped forward on it, making a horrifying crunch of bone on bone. “Parke.”

I threw the bowl of soup into his face as I grabbed my own .22 and ran from the room. Behind me, I could hear the crunching follow me, but I kept running through the police department. It must’ve been late because the building was empty as I leaped over desks and chairs. I found the door and threw it open into the dark night. Rain assaulted me from every side, but I continued moving back towards my apartment.

Bright headlights cut a pathway through the night and provided me with salvation. I pulled out my detective badge and held my hands out to stop the man. “Hey!” I shouted as he slowed down. “Detective James Parke. I need you to give me a ride.”

The man turned his head to glare at me. The right side was completely missing, with blood matting down his remaining hair. His right arm, too, seemed to be in terrible shape as it lay atop the steering wheel rather then grasp it. I now noticed three large bullet holes in his car windshield on the driver’s side. With surprising force, the creature in the car smashed through his door window, his grisly arm reaching for my throat.

I don’t know when my gun had appeared in my hands, but before I knew it, I’d begun to fire on the twisted being. The bullets didn’t seem to affect it beyond leaving tiny cosmetic wounds. As a matter of fact, it didn’t stop at all until it’s hand was at my neck. Jumping backwards, I stumbled into the figure of Sergeant Timber, or what used to be him at least. His massive arms picked me up and held me suspended in the air as I writhed in horror.

I kicked my legs franticly against him, with little hope. I felt a kick connect, and Timber fell to the pavement. His previously broken leg was completely crushed beneath the combined force of my kicks and his weight. I stared into his dull eyes for that moment, and knew that my friend was no longer there. Struggling against his arms, I pulled myself out of his grasp and onto the street once more.

The other creature hovered above me this time, his missing face a sick mockery of anatomy. I couldn’t contain my fear as his disfigured arm reached for me. I rolled to the side and dashed past him to the still-running car. I jumped in and hit the gas as fast as I could, looking behind at the two “men.”

The car smelled of fetid water and over-rippened fruit, but with the window being smashed, it was dissipating as I drove. Shards of glass dug into my back, but I no longer cared. What happened back there? What went so awry that all this happened?

A police officer stopped my musings as he stepped onto the road with a bright red stop sign. I stopped the car cautiously and kept my .22 readied in my hand. I trembled as the officer approached the door.

“Sir,” he said, “you can’t go any further. The bridge ahead has been torn down. We’re investigating the cause right now.”

I released a gasp of relief to see that he seemed fine. “Officer,” I muttered, not realizing how sore my throat was, “I was just attacked by two...,” I searched for a word in my mind, “...things. They were dead, I guess. Or they should’ve been at least. Look, you’ve got to go back there. These things are dangerous.”

The officer stared at me with disbelieving eyes and motioned behind him, “That way for the detour, sir.” I wanted to say something, anything. But I just nodded and drove to where he indicated.

The road was bumpy and riddled with potholes, something not unusual for this town. But it just didn’t feel right. I clutched my gun as I had done many times that night, seeking comfort in it’s cold sheen. The car leaped for a second, as I hit an unusually large pothole. I tried to continue driving, but sparks flew in through the broken window, singeing my lap. I leapt from the vehicle, gun still in hand and rain in my face, to examine the car.

The two front tires were both completely blown out and smoking. Also, several new bullet holes had made their way into the hood of the car. My skin crawled and I kept my weapon ready in front of me.

“Detective,” came a voice from the shadow. “Glad to see you made it.” Without hesitation, I fired a bullet to the source of the voice. A sickening laugh resounded through the air, “Have you decided to throw that thing away yet? See how much good a gun does you against this?”

Six people stepped from the shadows, all torn and beaten in some way. One was missing a jaw. Another oozed blood from open wounds on it’s chest. Several wore claw marks like badges of honor. I began to raise my .22, but dropped it hopelessly.

“Yes,” said the voice, “now you know what kind of situation you’re in.”

“What do you want?” I gasped, struggling to find breath.

“What do I want, you ask?” a chuckle came from the darkness again. “What do you know about wants and needs!? You people make me sick.”

One of the creatures was close to me now, it’s hands reaching out to my throat. I swatted them away helplessly and tried to crawl back into the car. I watched in horror as one of them picked up my discarded .22.

“Now,” came the booming voice, “meet your end for what you’ve done to my sweet Elsie!” The woman’s name stuck in my mind while the things approached. I dodged to the passenger door as two bullets fired into the car; one through the window, then another into the seat next to me. Laughter persisted from outside, but my only chance was escape. I fumbled with the door while another bullet sunk into my left shoulder. I wanted to scream, but pushed the thought aside for more pressing concerns.

The door suddenly tore open with rain forcing it’s way in. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to know that I’d won this battle, but I didn’t open the door.

Sergeant Timbers stood over me, with the car door raised in both hands, triumphant. The pain of the new wound just reached me in that moment, and I almost gave in to defeat. Almost.

I reached my arms out, throbbing with pain, to grab at his leg. His face showed no pain as I wrenched his bones aside, and sent him tumbling to the ground. I started out, with the monsters still approaching with their slow, steady gait. I ran quickly through the dark alleys and crisscrossed past houses darker still. My previous gunshot wounds tried to slow me down, but I persevered. Running from street to street, I knew not where to hide.

Eventually, my energy ran out, and I collapsed to the cold, wet ground. Above me, the sky still let loose it’s malicious torrent, mocking me. I struggled to read a sign near me, but almost collapsed from the strain of lifting myself. I twisted myself to see it read, “Holy Sites Cemetery.”

My jaw dropped at the thoughts racing through my own mind, and the rain mixed with tears. A numbing cold snaked it’s way through my body and into my mind. I fought the cold with all my might, when I heard footsteps behind me.

“Detective Parke,” said the familiar voice, “you were in charge of the investigation of my wife Elsie. Your investigation found her guilty and unjustly so. She was killed in jail, and you people did nothing to save her!”

I turned, coughing, to face the man. He was tall and thin, with patches of hair covering a bald head. He carried an umbrella in his left hand and a revolver in his right. At that moment, nothing seemed more horrifying.

“Doctor Caper,” I gasped. I had a follow-up assignment to his home after the Elsie Caper case, to investigate any other mysterious goings on. I never got around to his investigation, but in hindsight, it might have been a good idea.

“My revenge has been exacted on this town,” the doctor said with a crooked smile, “and my sweet Elsie will be joined with this world soon. Just as Doctor Frankenstein before me, I have found a way to create new life.” I my grew dim for a moment, death beckoning me it’s embrace. I turned to crawl away, but found a tombstone in front of me. “Look!” he screamed. “Look, and see the horror that your detective work has wrought!”

Here lies Elsie Caper.

The muzzle of the doctor’s gun was pressed against my head, and a cold hand had risen from the grave. It constricted my throat, and forced me to look into the gun.

“Goodbye, detective.”

The darkness engulfed me.

---